Uncharted Waters
by Swanseajill
Summary: “It should have been me! The parnock attacked me. But Dean deliberately got in the way, and it took him down instead. Stupid, overprotective jerk! He doesn’t deserve this, Caitlin. He doesn’t deserve to die.” Dean, Sam, OFC
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Unchartered Waters  
**Author:** Swanseajill  
**Rating: **PG  
**Characters:** Dean, Sam, OFC  
**Pairing**: Hint of Dean/OFC  
**Warnings/****Spoilers:** Set between Hunted and Playthings  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own them, making no money from them

**Summary:** "It should have been me! The parnock attacked _me_. But Dean deliberately got in the way, and it took him down instead. Stupid, overprotective jerk! He doesn't deserve this, Caitlin. He doesn't deserve to die."

**Author's Notes:** This is the first time I've attempted a fic that could be categorized 'het'. I love writing about the boys and the dymanic between them, but I wanted to try something different and introduce a female character who may, if this series continues, become romantically involved with one of the boys. Your opinion on this venture would be much appreciated!

The story should run to around 7 chapters and all being well, I'll be posting a chapter every few days.

Ginormous thanks to my beta, stealthyone, who's sweated over this and put up with my whining and insecurities.

**1.**

From her position near the end of the stained wooden bar, Caitlin Connor surreptitiously observed the dozen or so patrons of the Harvelle Roadhouse. A rough, dangerous-looking bunch, the lot of them, full of character. She itched to take out her camera and snap some candids of these people. It would make a fabulous series for a biographical work. But she'd learned that hunters kept a low profile and shied away from the limelight - understandably, considering their line of work. It was a shame, though. From what she'd discovered so far, they were all heroes in one way or another.

She picked up a cloth and the final beer glass, paused for the tenth time in as many minutes to brush hair out of her face, and wondered if it was time to seriously consider chopping off the shoulder-length mop of tangled curls. Maybe she'd go skinhead or Mohican. Alternatively, maybe turn the whole mess into dreadlocks. She grinned to herself at the thought of her mother's reaction to any of the above options. It would almost be worth it just to see the expression on her face…

Hearing raised voices, she turned her head to the other end of the bar and watched in frank admiration as Ellen Harvelle dealt briskly with a couple of recalcitrant patrons who had already imbibed one too many whiskeys.

Caitlin had great admiration for her no-nonsense, tell-it-as-it-is aunt, as different from her own mother as any person could be. She felt a kinship with Ellen that she had never felt with her own flesh and blood. She sometimes wondered if some kind of cosmic mix-up twenty-six years ago had resulted in her being born to the wrong woman.

She stacked the glasses back on a shelf beneath the counter and began to wipe down the wooden surface. She was slowly beginning to find her feet and definitely felt more comfortable than when she'd moved into the Roadhouse three weeks ago. She'd certainly learned more about this alien world of hunters in that short time than she'd picked up through the whole eight years since she'd found out the truth behind her aunt and deceased uncle's unusual lifestyle.

She had yet to decide if she wanted to live in this world, or run from it.

Caitlin jumped as the phone beside her uttered a piercing trill.

Ellen glanced across at her. "Caitlin, can you get it?"

"Sure."

Caitlin picked up the receiver. "Harvelle's."

"Who's this?" a voice demanded abruptly, and she imagined a frown on its owner's face.

"Why don't we start with, 'Who are _you_?'" she countered sharply, instinctively reacting to the curt tone.

"I'm sorry." The voice had softened, and Caitlin identified a tinge of anxiety in the tone. Not deliberately rude, then, just worried. "I didn't mean to be rude, but I need to speak to Ellen right away."

"She's tied up at the moment."

"Please… it's important. Tell her it's Sam Winchester."

Sam Winchester.

Caitlin had heard a great deal about the Winchester boys from her cousin Jo, and not all of it was complimentary. Scratch that. She didn't remember Jo saying a lot about Sam, except that he was a nice guy and incredibly tall. But she'd had plenty to say about his elder brother. Oh, yes. Enough to make Caitlin very curious to meet the famous Winchesters.

"Hold on." She called, "Ellen, it's for you. It's important."

Ellen frowned but walked over to Caitlin, an eyebrow raised.

Caitlin said in a low voice, "It's Sam Winchester." She had learned that not only did hunters keep a low profile, they were also very reticent about sharing their business with anyone. She figured it was safest not to shout Sam's name for the whole room to hear.

Ellen shot her a concerned look, took the receiver, and turned away, speaking quietly. "Sam? Something wrong?"

Caitlin hovered nearby, keeping one eye on the bar while blatantly listening in on Ellen's side of the conversation.

"He's _what?_ Sam, I _told_ you … What the hell happened? It should have been … _two_? The hell there were! … Okay, I get it, there were two of them. … No, I swear, I've never heard of them hunting in pairs before. … Yeah … yeah. … Calm down, Sam. Are _you_ hurt? … Are you sure, Sam? … Okay, okay." Ellen paused, running a hand through her hair.

She looked rattled, which surprised Caitlin. Ellen was usually so calm and collected.

"Listen," Ellen went on, "you remember what I told you about the venom? … Yes, I'm sure. No painkillers, no medication of any kind. That's really important, Sam. You'll just have to wait it out. … I know. … I know, Sam, but honey, Dean's strong … Yeah. … I know. All right, I'll look through Bill's journal, see if there's anything that could help. Where are you? … Yeah, I know it. All right, you keep in touch, you hear? Try to stay strong, Sam. … Okay, honey. 'Bye."

Ellen placed the receiver back on its cradle, her expression grave.

"Ellen? What's happened?" Caitlin asked hesitantly.

Ellen's lips thinned. "Something bad."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"No, honey. There's nothing any of us can do." She paused. "Although, it might help Sam if he knows exactly what to expect. Maybe I should drive out there… Damn it, I can't!" She looked searchingly at Caitlin for a moment, and then walked around the bar and bellowed, "Ash!"

The tow-haired computer genius looked up from his position at the pool table.

"Ash, I need you to keep an eye on the bar for a while."

"Aw, come on, Ellen, I just need a minute to make this shot."

"_Now_, Ash!"

Ash jumped visibly at the strident tone and hastily put down the pool cue. "I was on a winning streak, there, Ellen," he grumbled as he took his position behind the bar.

"You never win, Ash. I've probably saved you from a whitewash."

Caitlin bit back a grin at Ash's affronted look. Ash was an enigma she knew it was going to take more than three weeks to figure out, but so far, she'd at least worked out that she liked him.

"Keep an eye on things," Ellen went on. "And if Tom Wight tries to order another drink, sling him out of here. I need to go out back and talk to Caitlin."

Ellen gestured for Caitlin to follow her and Caitlin did, wondering what had happened and what it had to do with her. Her aunt had made it plain that she was welcome to stay on at the Roadhouse for as long as she wanted, but didn't want her to get involved with what she called "the life". That was fine by Caitlin. She was curious, of course she was, but she had no inclination to get involved in what seemed to be a dangerous and very strange world.

The two of them walked out through the kitchen into the living room. Ellen firmly closed the door behind them.

"Ellen? What's going on?"

Ellen turned and faced her, expression serious. "Have I mentioned the Winchester boys?"

"Once or twice. Jo's told me a bit about them."

Ellen rolled her eyes. "I'll just bet she has. Well, despite what Jo may have told you, Dean Winchester's no God, and he ain't the Devil incarnate either, but what he is right now is in deep trouble."

Caitlin nodded. "I overheard some of your conversation. I'm guessing something went wrong on a hunt, right?"

"Yeah. The boys were hunting a parnock."

She must have looked blank, because Ellen explained impatiently, "It's a vicious creature, a killer. Most people think it's an urban myth, but it exists all right, though this is the first one I've heard of in years. Should have been an easy hunt – those boys know their job. And they killed it all right, but it turns out there's two of them." She paused, shaking her head. "It doesn't make sense. I've never heard of them hinting in pairs. Anyway, the second parnock got its claws into Dean and drew blood."

That was a strange way to put it. "And that means?"

"It means he could die, Cait," Ellen stated bluntly. "The parnock's claws inject deadly venom into the bloodstream. Bill encountered a few in his time, and we know of other hunters who were infected. Very few of them lived."

Caitlin knew enough by now not to be surprised by anything her aunt might throw at her, even mythical monsters and deadly venom. Still, this wasn't the Dark Ages. "If it's venom, they can treat it in the hospital, right? They have antidotes to most venom these days."

"Sam can't take Dean to the hospital," Ellen said firmly. "Too many questions, for one, but mainly because he can't let them try to treat this. Painkillers, antibiotics – any kind of medical treatment reacts violently with the venom and accelerates death. No one's worked out why. But try explaining that to the medical staff. Sam can't take that risk."

"So what can he do?"

Ellen shook her head. "Just make Dean as comfortable as he can and pray he's strong enough to get through this. It'll all be over one way or another in less than twenty-four hours."

Less than twenty-four hours? Caitlin struggled to get her mind around the implication of Ellen's words and the fact that this was real. She searched for some words of comfort, but in the end all that came out was a feeble, "That's terrible," and she chided herself for the inadequacy of the words.

Ellen smiled grimly. "Welcome to the wonderful world of hunting, honey."

Ellen spoke in her usual matter-of-fact tone, but Caitlin saw her jaw working and could tell that she was really shaken at the news. It looked like the Winchesters boys meant a lot to her, and Caitlin wondered why.

"We need to look at Bill's journal," Ellen went on. "I keep it locked in the safe in the cellar. Give me a minute."

She disappeared, and Caitlin sat down at the table, feeling a little numb. This was so outside of her experience she wasn't sure how to react.

Ellen returned a few minutes later with a worn leather-bound book in her hand.

"Here we go." She quickly thumbed through it, stopped at a page around a third of the way in and looked up. "Here it is. Bill made notes, everything he could find about the effects of the parnock venom, just in case we ever encountered another. There may be a detail in here that'll help, something I've forgotten." She started reading. "Yeah, it's just as I remembered." She paused, snagging her bottom lip as her brow furrowed. Then she looked up. "The best thing is to get this to Sam. At the very least it'll prepare him for what Dean's about to go through."

Caitlin nodded. It made sense. Then she remembered Ellen's earlier words. "Wait. Didn't you say you can't drive out there?"

Ellen nodded. "There's someone coming in later I need to see. I know it's a lot to ask, but would you drive out there for me? I'm not sure Sam was telling the truth when he said he wasn't hurt himself, and if he is, he's going to need help looking after Dean."

"Me?" Drive to a motel in the middle of nowhere to help nurse a man she'd never met who was dying from the venom of a mythical monster? She felt a flutter of panic at the thought.

I'd send Ash, but I'll need him here later." Ellen looked her straight in the eye. "And there's no one else I trust. Caitlin, I feel responsible – I was the one who sent the boys on that hunt. And Sam sounded like he was on the edge. I don't want him to go through this alone."

Caitlin sighed. Knowing that she had Ellen's trust meant a lot, and deep down a part of her really wanted to impress her aunt. She didn't want Ellen to think she was pathetic and incapable, like her mother. "Sure, no problem," she said firmly, wishing she felt as confident as she sounded. "Just tell me where to find them."

Ellen looked relieved. "They're in a small town called Jackville, around two hours' drive north of here. Just get onto the highway and keep heading north. You can't miss it. Sam said they're at the Sunset Inn, on North Main. Look out for a black Chevy Impala."

"I have a map in the car. I'll find it."

Ellen put the journal in her hands. "Those boys…" She swallowed. "Cait, they're real close. If Dean doesn't make it – Sam's going to take it hard. There's no telling what he'll do."

Great. This was getting better and better. "And you think I could stop him doing whatever he likes? Ellen, I don't even know him!"

Ellen put her hands on Caitlin's shoulders. "I know. But I know _you,_ and I trust you. You'll know how to help if it comes to it. Now go, and call me later."

Caitlin nodded. "I will."

Ellen left and Caitlin deliberately allowed herself no time to think. She raced upstairs to her bedroom, threw a few items into an overnight bag, just in case, then snagged her purse from the chair and her jacket from the hook on the door.

Within five minutes she was on the road, foot down hard on the gas, heading into the unknown.


	2. Chapter 2

See Chapter One for summary, author's notes, etc

**Unchartered Waters**

**2.**

The sun was setting in a blaze of scarlet and orange hues when Caitlin drove slowly into the parking lot of the aptly named Sunset Inn. The lot was barely half-full, and she had no trouble locating the black Impala. Seeing the car brought a sting of sadness – her father would have given a lot for a car like that. She pulled up beside it, killed the engine and sat for a moment, gathering her thoughts and wondering what kind of reception she was going to get.

Out of habit, she glanced in the visor's mirror to check her appearance. She had long ago objectively labeled herself as, "not unattractive, but nothing to set the world alight". Deep blue eyes, set slightly too wide apart in a heart-shaped face, framed by that unruly chestnut hair, the bane of her life. She knew she could look positively pretty when she made an effort, but now, with her lips thinned and brow knotted in a worried frown, was not one of those times.

Caitlin grinned wryly at her momentary vanity. How she looked was hardly of any concern right now.

She got out of the car, grabbed her overnight bag from the backseat and walked up to room 25. A light shone faintly through a small gap in the drawn curtains. She took a deep breath and knocked resolutely. Eyes idly scanning the faded, peeling red paint on the door, she reflected that if this was the Winchesters' typical choice of accommodation, their taste left a lot to be desired.

She was preparing to knock again more loudly when the door opened a few inches and a tousled head poked out.

"Yes?"

Caitlin looked up at the man before her. "Up" was the operative word. Her first thought was that Jo hadn't been exaggerating his height. He must be at least 6' 4, towering over her own modest 5' 6. Her second thought was that Jo had neglected to mention that he was pretty darned cute, even with untidy dark bangs hanging down into his eyes and his features screwed up in a scowl. The third thought was that he had lied about not being hurt, judging from the bruise on his jaw and the gash on his forehead that must be the source of the dried blood gluing his hair to one side of his face.

"Sam, right?" she said.

His expression now neutral, he said, "I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong room."

"We spoke on the phone earlier. I'm Ellen Harvelle's niece, Caitlin."

His brow furrowed even more, creasing easily into deep lines that she sensed were no strangers to his face. "What? You… What are you doing here?"

Well, she hadn't expected a warm welcome, had she? "Ellen sent me." She held up the journal. "This is my uncle's journal. She thought there might be something in there that might help."

His eyes widened and she silently cursed her ill-chosen words as she saw the sudden flicker of hope reflected there. "I'm sorry, there's nothing about a cure, or anything," she explained hastily. "Ellen thought if you knew what to expect… it might help…" she floundered to a halt helplessly as the hope in his eyes fade into disappointment.

"Oh. Okay, thanks." He opened the door a little wider and held out a hand. She put the journal into it.

"Well, thanks again," he said after a moment's awkward silence, and began to close the door.

This was her chance to walk away. He didn't want her here – why would he? She was a total stranger. But he looked somehow lost and scared, and she hated to think of him alone for the next twenty hours, helplessly watching his brother suffer.

She grabbed his arm. "Hey, hold on a minute."

Sam looked at her impatiently. "Look, I'm grateful to you for driving out here, but there's nothing else you can do. I don't need any help."

She cocked her head. "You sure about that? Sam, I know it's your brother who's in trouble, but you don't look too good yourself – that looks like a nasty cut, and it needs cleaning. And I wouldn't be surprised if you have a concussion. I get that you don't want a stranger here, but how do you think you're going to look after your brother if you can't look after yourself? What if you pass out or something?"

Sam blinked, and she realized she hadn't stopped to take a breath. Well, good. Maybe she could talk him into submission.

"Look, just let me in for a few minutes. The least I can do is look at that cut for you, and then if you want me to leave, I will. Plus," she added honestly, "I've been driving for two hours, and I really need to use the bathroom."

Sam snapped abruptly out of his daze and ran a hand through his hair, carefully avoiding the gash, but wincing slightly anyway. He mustered a polite smile with obvious difficulty. "Sorry, I don't mean to be rude. Come in." He stood aside, gesturing her in. "Look, it's best if you don't stay too long, okay? I don't think Dean will be comfortable with a stranger around. No offense."

"None taken," she said as she walked past him into the dimly lit room.

A typical cheap-rate motel room, it had two queen beds pushed close together, separated only by a small bedside table. The only other furniture consisted of a TV mounted on a bracket high up on the wall. A door in that wall presumably led to the bathroom, and in the corner a battered microwave and a grimy-looking coffeemaker stood side by side on a narrow counter.

She didn't spend much time taking in her surroundings, her attention immediately drawn to the man lying on the bed nearest the door. "How's he doing?"

Sam's gaze went immediately to his brother. He glanced back at her with worried eyes, the furrow returning. "Not good," he said, keeping his voice low. "The venom's beginning to take hold. He won't admit it, but I can tell he's in a lot of pain already, and it's only been four hours."

Caitlin took a few hesitant steps closer and stopped beside the bed. Dean Winchester lay on his back, covered to his waist by a sheet. A large bandage covered his ribs on the left side, and his arms were clasped tightly around his middle. His eyes were closed and his jaw set, breath coming in short pants.

She thought back to her cousin's less than flattering description of this man. _"Dean Winchester is an arrogant, stubborn, chauvinist pig who only cares about his brother and his stupid car,"_ had been Jo's actual words, if she remembered correctly.

Thinking that Jo was protesting too much, she'd asked teasingly, _"Is he hot?"_ and choked back a laugh when Jo replied, with a poor attempt at nonchalance, _"I guess. He's really not my type."_ That had told Caitlin everything she needed to know.

She had been expecting an older version of Sam, but one look at Dean showed her that the two were nothing alike, physically at least. Where Sam's hair was long and untidy, Dean's was lighter and cut almost military short. She cast her photographer's eye over the straight nose, full lips and well-defined jaw peppered with day-old stubble. Strong features, but tempered by long, dark lashes that would be the envy of any woman and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks. She let out a slow breath. Even pale and with pain lines marring the smooth contours of his face, this was one incredibly good-looking man, and she felt something ignite inside in response.

Dean shifted, muttered something incoherent and opened his eyes.

Sam moved past her and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Hey, man, how are you doing?"

Dean didn't answer, but turned his head, and Caitlin found a pair of startling green eyes fixed on her. Intense eyes. _Beautiful_ eyes. She watched their expression change from suspicion to confusion to a frank admiration that made her blush.

He glanced back at Sam and raised an eyebrow. "Something you want to tell me, Sammy?"

His voice was deep, a little gravelly and beyond sexy.

"This is Caitlin, Ellen's niece," Sam explained. "Ellen sent her with Bill's journal – it has some information about parnocks. She isn't staying."

Slightly reeling from the effect Dean's physical presence had wrought on her, Caitlin pulled herself together and smiled tentatively at the patient. "I can leave, if you want me to," she said softly, "but Sam looks pretty tired, and I thought maybe he could use some help."

Dean's eyes flicked from her to Sam and back again. "He's hurt."

"I think it looks worse than it is. I'm going to help him clean up, and I'll make sure he looks after himself, okay?"

Dean's gaze remained fixed on her for a long moment, and she felt the flush deepen under the intense scrutiny. Then his lip quirked. "She's a way prettier nurse than you, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Can't argue with you there. Dean, you need to try and get some rest, okay?"

For a moment Dean looked like he'd argue, then his brow furrowed. He rolled onto his side, curled up and closed his eyes.

Sam moved away from the bed, gesturing for Caitlin to follow him, and then turned to her with a faint smile.

"What?"

"You've only just set eyes on my brother, and already you know which buttons to push," Sam said softly.

"Not difficult," she said, lowering her voice to match his. "I've been told you two are close and that Dean's a stubborn jerk."

Sam grinned. "Who told you that?"

She hesitated, not wanting to break Jo's confidence.

Sam snorted. "Jo, right? I bet that's not all she told you."

Caitlin smiled back. "Yes, it was Jo, and yes, she might have said a bit more. Look, why don't you get the first-aid kit out while I use the bathroom? Then I'll patch up that cut for you."

She didn't wait for a reply, heading for the bathroom and firmly closing the door behind her. She used the toilet, washed her hands then splashed some water on her face and ran her fingers quickly through her hair in a futile attempt to bring it to order.

Then she paused, caught by a sudden moment of panic.

She'd known for a long time about the kind of life her aunt and cousin led, but to her, in the safety of her home in Boston, the stories of ghosts and monsters had seemed a little unreal. Staying at the Roadhouse had brought it all closer, but even so, she hadn't yet come face to face with the harsh realities of this life. Until now.

She'd come to the Roadhouse to get away from her problems in Boston and to put some distance between herself and the city – and Toby in particular. She'd planned to take the time she needed to think through what she really wanted to do with her life, and then move on. She certainly hadn't intended to get involved in the strange world of hunting - that was her aunt's life, not hers.

In the car on the way up, she'd promised herself that she'd help in any way she could, but keep her distance emotionally. Her resolve had weakened the moment Sam had opened the door and she'd witnessed the anguish in his eyes. It had disappeared altogether the second she'd laid eyes on his brother and felt that irrational but powerful pull of attraction.

She shook herself impatiently. What she felt was irrelevant. This wasn't about her. The brothers needed her help, and that was what she was going to give.

Caitlin took a couple of deep breaths and then stepped out of the bathroom to find that Sam hadn't moved from his position on the edge of Dean's bed. He had the journal open in his hands.

"Sam?"

He looked up. He was pale, and his throat was working. "Have you read this?"

Caitlin shook her head. "I didn't have time before I left. Ellen told me a bit." She hesitated. "Is it… is it bad?"

"Yeah," Sam said shortly. "It's bad."

Caitlin searched for something comforting to say, but came up blank. She watched him run a hand through his hair and wince, reminding her that she needed to check him out. "Let's get that cut cleaned. "We'll use the bathroom. It'll be easier there."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not leaving him."

"Don't be such a girl, Florence," said a muffled voice from the bed. "What d'you think's gonna happen?"

Caitlin cocked an eyebrow. "You heard your brother. It won't take long. You can leave the door open, if you like."

She couldn't hold back a grin at the indignant snort from the bed. Dean rolled over again. "Sammy, you think I like looking at a freakin' monster-movie extra every time I open my eyes?"

Caitlin smiled at the words, even as she noted Dean's jaw tighten and a spasm of pain cross his face.

Sam narrowed his eyes and looked like he was going to argue, then sighed. "Okay, I get the message." He got to his feet with obvious reluctance, picked up the first-aid kit, then followed Caitlin into the bathroom with a quick backward glance at the bed.

She noted that he was a little unsteady on his feet and pointed him toward the toilet seat. "Sit down there," she ordered brusquely.

Obediently, Sam sat down and Caitlin perched on the edge of the bath across from him, trying to remember the most common symptoms of concussion. "Sam, did you lose consciousness at all?"

"No."

"Are you seeing double?"

"No."

"Nauseous?"

Sam sighed. "No."

"Do you have a headache?"

"Yes. But I don't have concussion, Caitlin."

She raised an eyebrow. "How do you know? You have a headache and you were dizzy a minute ago. They're both symptoms."

"Of course I have a headache! But I've been concussed before, and I can tell the difference, okay?"

Caitlin wasn't convinced, but she'd let it go for now and keep a close eye on him. "Well, you can't mess around with concussion, so you tell me the minute you get any symptoms."

"Yes, ma'am." The words were slightly mocking and she caught a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just, there's no doubt you're Ellen's niece."

Caitlin took a washcloth and poured some antiseptic over it. "This'll sting a bit. Why do you say that?"

"You're just as bossy as she… oww!"

"Sorry," Caitlin said sweetly. "I need to make sure it's clean." She cleaned the cut thoroughly, then sat back to admire her handiwork. "It's not as bad as it looked with all the blood. I don't think you need stitches."

"Good, because there's no time for stitches."

"Okay. I'll just put a bandage on." She fished around in the first-aid kit, noting that it was a lot more comprehensive than your average one and wondering how often they had cause to use it. Sam's eyes kept straying to the other room. "Why don't you tell me what happened?" she asked, wanting to keep his mind occupied.

Sam sighed. "We were hunting a parnock. You know what that is?"

"It's some kind of monster, right?"

"Good enough. We trapped it, and Dean shot it through the heart – that's the only way to kill it. Easy, job done. But we didn't know there were two of them." His jaw tightened. "The second one was hidden in a tree above us. It leapt down at me, but Dean saw it and pushed me out of the way. By the time I got to my feet he was on the ground and it had clawed him, drawn blood."

"Did you kill it?"

"Yeah." He paused, catching his lower lip between his teeth, expression a mixture of worry and frustration. "We'd done the research, made sure we were prepared. Everything said they hunt alone."

"That's what Ellen said." Caitlin firmly pushed the bandage down and secured it with some adhesive strips. "And this parnock – its venom can…" She trailed off, reluctant to say the word.

"Kill," Sam finished for her. "Soon as I saw the blood, I knew…" He broke off, voice choking.

"All done," Caitlin said quietly into the sudden silence.

"Thanks." Sam cleared his throat and sheepishly looked at her. "Look, C… Call…"

"Caitlin."

"Caitlin. Right. I'm sorry you got dragged into this. You should go home. I can take it from here."

He stood up and swayed alarmingly.

She jumped up, reaching out to steady him. "Whoa, Sam, sit back down, okay?"

Sam fell rather than sat down. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm okay."

"No, you're not. You need some rest."

"I'm fine."

If Dean was supposed to be the stubborn one, Sam was doing a great job of following in his footsteps. She bit back a stab of irritation – _cut the guy some slack, Caitlin, his brother's dying over there._ "Yes, you can. Look, you've read the journal. What does it say about the symptoms?"

"It says they'll get worse as time goes on, but—"

"And that's when Dean will need you most," she interrupted. "I can guarantee that if you don't get some sleep now, you're going to fall on your face in a few hours. What good's that going to be to your brother?"

Sam set his jaw, face set in a determined expression, but he couldn't disguise the fear and desperation he was feeling. He looked vulnerable and a little lost and her heart went out to him. She softened her voice and put a hand on his arm. "I know you want to be with him. I'm just asking you to rest for a while. I'll stay and watch him every minute, I promise, and I'll wake you if I need to. Then I'll leave, if you want me to. Deal?"

After a moment, Sam swallowed and nodded. He stood up again, more carefully this time, and Caitlin followed him back into the bedroom. Sam paused beside Dean's bed for a moment and looked down at his brother. Then he eased himself carefully onto the other bed.

"You'll wake me if anything changes?"

"Go to sleep, Sam."

Despite his earlier protestations, Sam was asleep in moments.


	3. Chapter 3

See Chapter one for summary, author's notes, etc.

**Unchartered Waters**

**3**

Caitlin watched Sam intently for a few minutes until she was sure he wasn't faking sleep. Then she turned toward the other bed.

"Impressive."

She started. She'd thought Dean was asleep, but he was lying on his back, staring at her, lips curled in a smile.

She sat down on the edge of his bed. "What's impressive?"

"You. Persuading Sam to get some rest."

Caitlin smiled. "Yeah, well, I gather stubbornness is a Winchester family trait."

"Only in the younger brothers."

She studied his face, noting the over-brightness of those extraordinary eyes, the pain creases etched on his brow and the tightness of jaw.

"You're in a lot of pain, aren't you?"

"I've had worse." He cleared his throat and it was obvious the subject was closed. "So, you're Ellen's niece, huh?"

"Yes. Ellen's my mother's sister."

"Haven't seen you around the Roadhouse before."

"I've only been there three weeks," she explained. "I… I'm taking some time out. To think… about stuff."

She was afraid he was going to ask her about the "stuff", but he didn't. Instead, he raised an eyebrow. "Strange place to choose if you want to get away from hunting."

Caitlin smiled at the idea of herself as a hunter. "I'm not a hunter. I'm a photographer."

Dean frowned. "A… photographer? I just assumed—"

His words were cut off in a hiss of pain.

"Dean?"

"Just… give me a minute," he gasped.

She watched helplessly while he rode out the pain, itching to offer some kind of support. Tentatively, she reached out a hand to touch him, but found herself holding back. Instinct told her that he wasn't a man to accept help or comfort easily.

Finally, taut muscles relaxed and he blew out a long breath. "Well, that was a blast."

"What…?"

He shrugged. "Felt like someone was prodding my insides with a hot poker."

Ouch. "You should try to get some sleep," she said, knowing how lame that sounded.

He grunted. "I'm not sure sleep's an option."

"Just close your eyes, then, try and rest." _You need to save all your strength for what's ahead, _she thought, but couldn't bring herself to say aloud. She could tell from his expression that he was thinking it too.

"Keep an eye on Sam," he said after a moment, then rolled onto his side and shut his eyes.

Caitlin pulled up a chair to the bed and picked up the journal.

She read through Bill's detailed account slowly, trying to take in every detail. It wasn't easy reading. She felt a growing horror as she read the list of symptoms, beginning with localized pain at the site of the injury that slowly spread throughout the body. As the venom took hold it gave rise to muscular cramps and shooting pains through the extremities accompanied by severe headaches, an escalating fever and then delirium. Dear Lord. She couldn't bear the thought of Dean suffering through a hell like that.

She looked across at Dean, considering the symptoms she'd witnessed. Judging by his present condition, he was already entering the second stage.

Dean grunted, shifted position onto his back and opened his eyes. "Hey."

"Hey. How are you doing?"

He didn't answer for a moment, and she half expected him to blow her off with, "I'm fine," but he surprised her by saying, "Been better." She guessed this was a major admission for him and it touched her that he trusted her, a stranger, with the truth.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. Can I get you anything?"

"Water'd be good."

"Sure." She got up and poured a glass of water, waiting as he propped himself on one arm to drink it and not missing the sharp intake of breath as he did so.

"Thanks." He drained the glass, handed it back to her and sank back into the pillows with a sigh. "What're you reading?"

"It's… It's Bill Harvelle's journal. There's… there's some stuff in here about parnocks." She didn't know what else to say. What could she say? Tell him about the symptoms she'd read about in the journal? _Hey, Dean, you think this is bad? Just wait until the pain becomes unbearable and the fever and delirium kick in. _That would really help. Yet she couldn't bring herself to lie to him, either, and she sensed that he was the kind of man who'd want to know the truth.

"It's okay," he said quietly, disconcertingly reading her thoughts. "I know it'll get really bad."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Dad told me about someone he hunted with once who was poisoned by a parnock," he went on. "I know what's happening to me."

"That guy. Did he…"

"He didn't make it."

She swallowed. "Dean…"

"It's okay," he said quietly. "I'm not afraid to die."

"You're not going to die," she said quickly. "There are stories in Bill's journal of people who've survived this, and you will too."

"Right. Takes a lot to bring down a Winchester." His eyes looked through her, maybe at a distant memory, and she didn't think the pain reflected there was physical. She remembered Ellen telling her that John Winchester had died not six months before and wondered how close father and son had been. As she was deciding how to respond, he startled her by reaching out a hand and grabbing her wrist. "If I don't make it…" he silenced her automatic protest with a frown. "If I don't make it… I need you to look out for Sam. Don't let him… Call Bobby Singer. He'll know what to do. The number's in my cell."

She was shaken, not so much by his words, echoing as they did Ellen's earlier request, but by the intensity of his gaze and the fear in his voice; fear that was clearly for Sam, not for himself.

"It won't come to that. You'll –"

"Promise me." His grip tightened, and his eyes darkened with emotion. "_Promise me_."

She nodded. "I promise."

"Will you stay, until… Will you stay awhile and keep an eye on Sam?"

Caitlin felt tears pricking against the back of her eyelids. He knew he might be dying, but his only concern seemed to be for his brother. "Of course. Don't worry about Sam. I promise I'll look after him."

His eyes searched hers intensely for a moment, and then his grip relaxed and he let go of her wrist, sinking back into the pillow and folding his arm around his middle.

"Try to get some more rest," she said softly.

He held her gaze for a moment longer, and then curled up again and closed his eyes.

Caitlin put some coffee on to brew, thinking that Sam would need some when he woke up, and then sat and watched Dean while he rested. He wasn't sleeping, she could tell that from his breathing. He was clearly in pain, but trying to control his response to it. For his own benefit, or for hers? She wasn't sure. Eventually, though, he put a hand to his head, and a gasped moan escaped his lips.

This time she didn't hesitate to reach out a hand in response to his distress, touching his arm. "Dean, what is it?"

"Head," he ground out. "Feels like ... someone's in there with a chainsaw."

"I'll wake Sam."

"No! Let him sleep. Wait awhile, okay?"

"I don't think--"

His back arched and he cried out, face screwed up in agony. She reached for his hand and his fingers curled around hers, tightening like a vise as his whole body stiffened. She let out a startled yelp of pain.

When the attack passed, he tried to pull away.

"Sorry," he whispered.

She kept a firm hold of his hand. "What for?"

"Hurt you," he murmured.

His jaw was locked against the pain, yet he was worried about her? Her throat tightened. "You didn't hurt me," she lied. A little hesitantly, she leaned forward and ran her free hand through his hair, thumb running soft circles around his temple, alarmed at the heat that met her touch. The fever was beginning to kick in. "It's time to wake Sam."

This time it wasn't a question.

Before she could move, Sam stirred. He may have heard Dean's cry in his sleep, or maybe some kind of second sense had alerted him to the fact that his brother needed him. Another moan from Dean brought him fully awake, and after one quick glance at his brother he jumped out of bed.

"Sam, take it easy," Caitlin urged as he swayed and abruptly sat back down. Feeling a little self-conscious at being caught holding Dean's hand, she let go and shifted back a few inches.

"I'm okay. Just a little dizzy, that's all." He closed his eyes for a moment, then stood up again, more slowly this time, and walked over to sit opposite her on the edge of Dean's bed.

"Hey, Dean." he asked softly, resting a hand on Dean's forehead.

Dean didn't reply, but she saw him visibly relax under his brother's touch.

Sam glanced back at Caitlin. "Shit, Caitlin, he's burning up!"

"I know," she said miserably. "The fever's starting to set in."

"You think? Why didn't you wake me?" he demanded.

She was a little taken aback by his anger. "I was just about to."

His eyes flashed. "You promised you'd wake me if he got worse."

"I know," she snapped back, stung by his unwarranted aggression. "And like I said, I was about to-- "

"What, you thought you had to wait for him to start screaming or something?"

"Hey, right here, you know," Dean interjected weakly. "And you can hold your breath if you think I'm gonna to scream like a girl."

Sam's brow furrowed and he immediately turned his attention to his brother. "I'm sorry. How are you doing, dude?" he said, voice softer now. "And I want the truth."

Dean blew out a shaky breath. "Like crap warmed up."

Sam frowned at the admission, as if it was unexpected.

"And why the hell are you shouting at Caitlin?"

Sam glanced at her, expression contrite. "I'm sorry. I just…"

"It's okay," she said quickly. "You're just worried."

"You know, Sam, you could take some lessons from Caitlin here on bedside manner."

Suddenly Dean's features screwed up, and he let out a strangled cry, body going rigid as another attack hit. Sam shifted his hand to his brother's shoulder, murmuring soft words Caitlin couldn't quite make out.

It was long minutes before the spasm passed and Dean lay back panting, clearly weakened by the severity of the episode.

For the next couple of hours, the violent spasms returned at regular intervals, and the effort of riding out each attack left Dean sweating and exhausted. Eventually, they seemed to die out, although tremors continued to run through his body from time to time. But the pain must have dulled a little, for Dean seemed to relax and, after a while, drifted into a fitful slumber. Sam pulled the comforter up around his shoulders, tucking it in, then walked over to the other bed and sat down with a sigh.

Caitlin watched as he ran a hand through his hair.

"How are _you_ doing, Sam?"

"I'm okay."

"How's the head?"

Sam shrugged. "Bit of a headache, that's all. Nothing compared to…" He swallowed.

Caitlin stood up and walked across the room. "You want some Tylenol?"

Sam shook his head. "Some coffee would be good, though."

"Sure." Caitlin poured them both a mug of lukewarm coffee long past its best, then refilled the filter. They'd both need the caffeine to keep alert during the night. She glanced at her watch. Midnight. It felt later.

She sat down beside Sam and handed him a mug.

"Thanks." He took a mouthful and sighed. "I needed that."

"Why don't you try and get some rest?" Caitlin suggested hesitantly.

Sam shook his head. "No. I'm not leaving him. I can't." He paused. "There must be something we can do. He's in agony, Caitlin. I can't just sit here and watch him suffer. There must be something we can give him to help with the pain."

"There's nothing," she said, steeling herself against the anguish in his eyes. "You read the journal."

"Maybe we missed something. What about natural painkillers, like devil's claw, or white willow bark?"

Caitlin knew they hadn't missed anything. Both of them had carefully read the entry. But she picked the journal up anyway and quickly flicked through to the relevant part. She scanned the dense writing. The detailed account was very clear.

"I'm sorry, Sam," she said softly. "Antibiotics, painkillers, even natural remedies – if you give him anything, it'll kill him." The words sounded harsh, but Sam needed to accept the truth.

After a moment, Sam nodded. He was quiet for a while, then looked up at her, eyes dull. "Look, I appreciate you being here, but there's nothing more you can do. Why don't you go home?"

"I'll go if that's what you want. But I'd like to stay, Sam. I don't want you to do this alone."

Sam hesitated. "Look, it's not that I don't appreciate the offer, it's just that me and Dean … We're used to looking after ourselves."

Caitlin studied him, trying to decide whether he really didn't want her around or if he was just thinking of her. Either way, it didn't really matter. He needed her. "I understand," she said patiently. "But this is different. You're not one-hundred percent yourself, and don't try to tell me you don't still have a pounding headache." She paused. "Do you think Dean wants you to face this alone?"

Sam licked his lips. "I guess not."

"I won't get in your way. I'll just be here, if you need me."

He studied her for a moment and then nodded. "All right. I… thank you."

A strangled groan from Dean interrupted them, and Sam was back at his side in an instant. Caitlin followed. Dean was still curled up in a fetal position, clutching his head with both hands.

"He said his head's hurting badly," Caitlin said quietly. "The fever can't be helping."

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder. "It's okay, you're okay, just try and relax," he soothed. He glanced at Caitlin. "Let's try a damp cloth, try to get the fever down a bit."

Caitlin nodded, and headed for the bathroom, reflecting grimly that the worse was still to come.


	4. Chapter 4

See Chapter one for summary, author's notes, etc

**Unchartered Waters**

**4**

From that point on, Dean remained half-conscious, occasionally lucid and aware of their presence, but mostly lost in a world of pain, every ounce of strength expended in a battle against the constant agony coursing through his body. Caitlin and Sam sat on either side of his bed, doing what little they could to make him comfortable by massaging trembling, knotted muscles and wiping his body down with damp washcloths as the fever rose.

Early on, Caitlin could tell Dean was aware enough to try not to show how badly he was suffering, only occasionally allowing a groan or gasp to pass his lips. She was sure it was because he wanted to spare Sam the pain of watching him suffer. Part of her admired his courage, part of her wanted to scream at him to just let go, to shout, scream, or do whatever he needed to help himself through this.

As time went on and the pain escalated, the groans became more frequent, and Dean was unable to hold back the occasional agonized cry when a particularly severe spasm tore through his body. Hours ago, Sam had firmly grasped his hand and had not let go since, and Caitlin had watched Dean's suffering mirrored on his brother's face as Sam sat beside him, keeping up a constant stream of soft-voiced murmurs. The contact seemed to help.

There came a point when Sam seemed like he could no longer bear to watch Dean toss and turn in a futile attempt to escape the constant torment. He climbed up on the bed, maneuvered himself behind Dean and pulled his brother into his arms, head resting against Sam's chest. Arms wrapped around Dean, Sam rocked him gently, softly whispering words Caitlin could not make out. Dean seemed to take a little comfort from it all, although he was still tense, fisting Sam's T-shirt in one hand until his knuckles showed white and bracing the other against the bed.

Moments later, Dean twisted his head so he could look up at Sam, and his fever-filled eyed locked with his brother's. "Make it stop, Sammy."

The words were barely a whisper, but Caitlin felt a jolt of shock run through her at the sheer torment reflected in those few words. It was the first time in long hours that he'd uttered a single word of complaint. Had Dean reached the end of his endurance? She couldn't blame him. He'd been fighting for fifteen hours, and there was surely only so much torment one man could take, even one as obviously strong of body and mind as this one.

Sam tightened his grip. "I can't, Dean. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I can't make it stop."

"Hurts… so bad…."

"I know. I know, Dean." There was a catch in Sam's voice, and he was fighting back tears. "I know it's bad, but you have to hold on just a bit longer."

"I don't… I can't..."

"Yes, you can. Don't you give up, not now."

Caitlin bit her lip, unable to bear the anguish in Sam's eyes and the desperation in his tone. He covered the hand fisted in his shirt with his own, pulling until Dean let go of the fabric, and then linked their fingers, gripping tightly.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean whispered.

"What for?"

"Promised I'd keep you safe, but I can't… Go to Bobby, tell him everything… He'll help…"

"Dean, no. I'm not letting you go."

"No… choice, Sam."

"Yes, there's a choice," Sam said fiercely. "You choose to fight!"

"Promise me," Dean whispered.

"I'm not promising anything, you selfish son of a bitch."

"Sam!" Shocked at the sudden harsh words, Caitlin began to protest, but Sam shot her a fierce, angry look, and she snapped her mouth shut.

Dean turned his head away, but Sam gripped his jaw, forcing him to look at his brother. "I don't need Bobby. I need my big brother. I can't do this without you, and I don't want to. I'm not gonna lose you, so don't even think about giving up. You're a stubborn, arrogant ass over everything else in your life, so you're damned well going to be one over this too. So you shout, scream, and tear this place apart if you have to, but you hold on. You hold on for _me_."

There was a long silence. Caitlin looked on, feeling like an intruder as a form of silent communication passed between the brothers. Then Dean breathed, "Snarky little bitch." Amazingly, his lips quirked in a half-smile, and Sam relaxed immediately.

"Stubborn jerk," Sam said softly, tears in his eyes. His grip loosened a little, and Dean settled back against his chest, eyes drifting shut.

Caitlin didn't have a chance to question Sam about his harsh words because shortly after that, Dean's fever rose alarmingly and he slipped into a state of delirium. Sam carefully maneuvered out from behind him, lay him back down and resumed his previous position perched on the edge of the bed.

For the next couple of hours, Dean tossed and turned, plagued by what were clearly nightmares rather than dreams. His fevered ramblings made no sense to Caitlin, but Sam seemed to understand and kept up a constant stream of reassurance. From time to time, he'd lay still, and those times were the most frightening of all.

During one of the quiet times, Caitlin looked pointedly across at Sam and asked, "What was all that about? What you said before?"

As Sam looked up, she noted the exhausted droop to his shoulders and his bloodshot eyes. He needed to get some rest, but she knew better than to suggest it.

He rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Before when?"

"When you told your brother he was a selfish son of a bitch. Bit harsh under the circumstances, don't you think?"

"Oh, that." Sam blew out a long breath. "You need to understand something about Dean. He'll fight for me. He'll fight for anyone, for that matter. But he won't do it for himself. He just… he seems to have the idea that his life isn't worth much. And right now… he's not in a good place. He blames himself for Dad's death. Thinks he should have died instead."

"Why would he think that?"

Sam seemed to hesitate.

"It's okay," she said quickly. "You don't have to tell me."

Sam sighed. "It's complicated. Dad died to save his life. Dean was dying, and if Dad hadn't… Dean would be dead right now. And he can't handle that. Doesn't think he was worth the sacrifice."

Clearly, there was more to the story, and Caitlin desperately wanted to know how the Winchesters had ended up in that position, but she wasn't going to push. "It must have been hard on you too, losing your dad," she said, instead.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, it was hard. Me and Dad – we'd never been close, used to fight all the time. I loved him, though. But… losing Dean?" He looked away, but not before she saw his jaw tremble. "It's just not an option, Caitlin."

He suddenly stood up, walked to the side of the room and slammed his fist into the wall.

"It should have been me! The parnock attacked _me_. But Dean deliberately got in the way, and it took him down instead. Stupid, overprotective jerk! He doesn't deserve this, Caitlin, he shouldn't be…" His voice broke. All at once, the aggression seeped out of him and he slumped, arms braced against the wall, head resting on his hands, anguish radiating from him like a fever.

After a moment's hesitation, Caitlin walked across to him and put a hand on his arm.

He looked up. "I can't lose him, Caitlin."

"You won't lose him," she said firmly. She felt like crying herself, but she had to stay strong, for Sam – and for Dean. "He's a stubborn, arrogant ass, right? And he promised you that he wouldn't give up. And I get the feeling that he's not a man to break a promise. So don't you dare give up on him."

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, then drew himself up, scrubbing a hand across his face. He gave her a half-smile. "I'm glad you stayed, Caitlin."

"So am I," she said honestly.

Sam sat down again, grasping Dean's hand. Dean muttered something incoherent and then settled again.

Wanting to distract Sam, Caitlin asked, "How did you guys get into hunting?"

"Dad. He was a hunter. I've never known anything else. Our childhood was more like a boot camp than a life. We were always training, preparing, and learning the job. The family business." He gave a small, bitter laugh. "Dean loved it – he was Dad's good little soldier, never questioned anything, obeyed all Dad's stupid rules. Me - I guess I rebelled. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life on the road, hunting evil. So… I left."

"Where did you go?"

"College. I was planning to study law. Then… well, some things happened and… here I am."

Caitlin sensed massive gaps in the story. Reading between the lines, it sounded to her like a terrible way to spend your childhood and left her wondering why a man would choose that life for his kids. But she didn't push. Sam barely knew her, after all, and she knew how guarded hunters were with strangers.

"Tell me about Dean," she said instead, trying to sound nonchalant. The question was partly for Sam's sake, to keep him distracted, but she couldn't deny her eagerness to find out more about his brother.

Sam blew out a breath and looked down at Dean. He smiled. "Dean. Where do I start? He's stubborn, single-minded, has terrible taste in music, eats junk food by choice, and you don't want to know about his relationship with his car."

Caitlin laughed. "It's a cool car."

"Yeah. I wouldn't want to make him choose between me and the Impala."

"You two – you're really close."

Sam nodded. "We're all we have left. And Dean – he sees looking out for me as his job, you know? Our mom died - in a fire - when I was a baby. Dean was four. He carried me out of that burning house, and he's been looking out for me ever since."

Caitlin glanced at Dean, imagining a small, frightened boy bravely fighting his way through the flames, clutching his precious burden with all his might. What a terrible experience for a child to go through. And as she looked back at Sam, she couldn't help but hurt for him, too. Both parents dead, and now he might lose his brother, as well?

"I'm sorry about your mom," she said sincerely.

Sam sighed. "I never really knew her, but it's different for Dean. He's never got over it."

Dean shifted restlessly, and Sam immediately turned his attention back to his brother. Dean grew more and more agitated, muttering something about Sam keeping away … danger … Gordon. Sam scooted in close, sitting down on the edge of the bed and grasping his brother's shoulder. "It's okay, I'm fine, Dean. Gordon's gone, remember? I'm safe, he can't hurt me."

Caitlin marveled at the way Sam's touch and voice calmed Dean almost immediately. She watched as Sam continued to talk in a soft voice, wondering who Gordon was and why he'd want to hurt Sam.

After a little while, Dean lay quiet once more and Sam sank back down onto the chair. Caitlin got them both a cup of coffee and they settled back in to continue their vigil.

"So," she said after a moment, "you were telling me about Dean."

Sam took a sip of his coffee. "Yeah. Well, when mom died, that was when Dad started hunting. When we were kids, he was away a lot, so Dean was always stuck looking after me. He practically raised me." His eyes drifted back to Dean as he continued speaking, voice soft. "My first memories are of Dean, not Dad. He did his best to make my childhood as normal as it could be. He's always been there for me. Always. Yeah, we argue – what brothers don't – but bottom line, he's never let me down. Ever."

Caitlin looked at Dean again with a newfound appreciation as well as a pang for the responsibility placed on his shoulders at such a young age. What had his own childhood been like, if his main focus had been looking after his little brother? "Pretty cool big brother, huh?"

Sam looked back at her. "Yeah. But the thing is, with Dean… it's never about him. It's always about me, Dad – people who need saving. He never seems to want anything for himself. He gave up everything to stay with Dad, to hunt, to look after me."

Caitlin cocked her head, considering his words. "But you said he loves it, right? Hunting?"

Sam nodded. "He does. At least, that's what I've always thought. It's not like he's ever had a choice – he's never given himself a choice. But sometimes… sometimes I wonder if maybe deep down he wants what everyone wants, you know? A family, kids." His voice caught. "He''d make an awesome dad."

Caitlin smiled; there was something endearing about that thought. Then she raised an eyebrow at Sam. "What about you? Do you want all those things?"

Sam shrugged. "I used to. Now? I'm not so sure anymore."

He seemed uncomfortable with the subject, so Caitlin didn't pursue it.

They sat quietly for a while, watching Dean toss and turn in fretful slumber. Then Sam took up the conversation again.

"Dean's a great hunter, and he's smart, too, though he likes to pretend he isn't. He has this macho, tough-guy image, but sometimes, when the act slips…" His voice caught. "He's a good man, Caitlin. He doesn't deserve to die."

The pain in those heartfelt words touched Caitlin. Unable to find any words she felt would lend comfort, she walked around the bed, sat down beside him and squeezed his shoulder in silent support. He responded with a wan half-smile.

After a few moments of quiet, Caitlin stood up, needing to stretch cramped limbs. The room seemed lighter than before, and she went to the window and pulled back the curtain a little. She was surprised to see the sun creeping above the skyline. She glanced at her watch. 8 a.m. How had that happened? She had thought at one point that the long night would never end.

Closing the curtain, she turned around. "Sam, it's 8 a.m. I think I should go and get us something to eat."

"Not for me, thanks."

Caitlin frowned. "I'm not hungry either, but we both need to eat."

Sam shrugged. "Whatever."

Caitlin slipped out and walked along to the gas station a few hundred yards further down the road. It was a promising start to the day, the cloudless blue sky and the warmth of the early sun on her shoulders signaling hot weather ahead.

The shop attached to the gas station was small but crammed with an eclectic collection of stock. She quickly picked up some coffee and chose a bag of assorted donuts.

"There you go, honey," the middle-aged woman behind the counter said with a friendly smile as she handed over her cash. "I hope you have something special planned. The forecast's for a perfect day."

A perfect day. It hardly felt perfect, not when there was a chance a good man might die. Despite the heat a shiver ran through Caitlin, and she mustered a weak smile and mumbled thanks before stumbling out of the shop.

She let herself back into the hotel room, seemingly even darker now after the brightness outside. After putting some coffee on, she sat down beside Sam, silently opening the bag and offering it to him. He hesitated, then stuck his hand in and chose a donut at random.

Caitlin fished one out for herself and took a small bite. The sweetness stuck in her throat, but she forced herself to finish it, and glared at Sam until he did too.

The day wore on.


	5. Chapter 5

See Chapter One for disclaimer, etc.

A/N: I want to thank all those who've sent encouraging comments on the first four parts and particularly for your positive reaction to Caitlin. I'm planning a few more stories in this series, so I'm glad you don't hate her!

**Uncharted Waters**

**5.**

Dean's condition showed no improvement, but it didn't degenerate either, which gave Caitlin and Sam a ray of hope.

As the hours wore on, Sam told Caitlin stories of hunts they'd been on, alone and with their father. Caitlin felt comfortable enough with him to open up, too, giving him a quick life history. She talked about the father she'd doted on and the mother she couldn't connect with. She told him a little of her job as a photographer with a Boston magazine and that she'd decided to leave and go freelance. She didn't explain why she'd left Boston – that was too long and complicated a story -- but she did tell him how she'd found out her aunt's secret when she was eighteen and that the Roadhouse seemed the obvious place to go while she worked out what to do next.

Around 3 p.m., Dean slipped into unconsciousness, and Caitlin didn't need to look at Sam to know what he was thinking. They'd reached the final phase. Either the fever would break over the next couple of hours, or Dean would die.

It was as simple and as devastating as that.

She forced herself to look at Sam and almost flinched at the pain in his eyes. "He's not in so much pain now," she offered lamely.

"No." Sam's voice was low and subdued.

"Sam, he's got this far…"

Sam looked at her. "And if he dies? I made him suffer through all those hours of agony when I could have stopped it! I should have let him go."

"Don't you dare think like that," Caitlin said fiercely. "You made him fight; you gave him the chance to live. He told me it takes a lot to bring down a Winchester. You just remember that, and don't give up on him."

Sam glanced down at Dean. "I'll never give up on him," he said softly. He paused and cleared his throat. "Listen, Caitlin, you've been great, but… do you think you could leave me alone with him for a while?"

She hesitated. She'd promised Ellen and Dean that she'd be there for Sam when… if… "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Sam flicked her a grim smile. "It's okay. I'm not going to do something stupid, if that's what you're worried about. I just… if… if he… I'd like to be alone with him to say goodbye."

A lump in her throat threatening to swell up and choke her, Caitlin blinked back tears and nodded. She stood up and walked around to his side of the bed, leaning in to give him a quick hug. "I'll take a walk and come back in an hour or so."

She wanted to say something more, something that would give him some comfort, but really, what was there to say? Instead, she picked up her jacket and looked at Dean one more time before walking out the door and closing it softly behind her.

She got in the car and drove to the parking area near the river she'd passed on the way into town. She walked down to the river and sat down on a large, flat rock near the water's edge, under the shade of a tree.

Caitlin's thoughts and emotions were in turmoil. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she'd known the Winchester brothers only by name and reputation. Now, she felt she'd known them all her life.

And they'd made her care, damn them.

She didn't want to care. She'd done too much of that over the past couple of years, and all it had brought her was heartbreak. But she couldn't help it. All those hours sitting alongside Sam, she felt she'd seen into his heart, and she knew it would break if Dean were to die. And Dean… She couldn't deny the physical attraction, and everything she'd heard about him intrigued her. Dean Winchester, macho man with a heart of gold; son, brother, hunter, hero. Sam had told her so much about him, and it hurt to think that she might never have a chance to get to know him for himself, rather than through someone else's eyes.

Caitlin felt tears begin and allowed them to fall for several long minutes. Then she angrily scrubbed her face with a handkerchief. This was no good. She couldn't fall apart. She had to be strong for Sam. She'd promised Ellen as much and she wasn't one to break her promises. She'd called her aunt several times during the past twenty hours and she considered calling her now. But what could she tell her? Better to wait until there was news, one way or the other. It wouldn't be long now. Either Dean would make it through the final stage, or…

Tears formed again and she brushed them away hastily. She would not allow herself to think about the alternative.

She sat for a long time, idly skimming stones across the still surface of the water. Finally, confident that she was in control again, she walked back to the car.

Caitlin arrived back at the motel a little over an hour after leaving and quietly let herself into the room. It was still in semi-darkness, with only a trickle of light leaking in through the thin curtains. She looked across at Dean's bed, and her heart stood still. Dean lay in the same position, as still and quiet as before. Sam sat on the edge, elbows braced on his knees, head in his hands. His shoulders were shaking with what she took to be silent tears.

It was over. Sam had been right. All that pain and suffering had been for nothing. She fought back a flood of emotion, took a deep breath and walked across the room, sitting down beside him. "Sam, I'm so sorry."

He looked up, revealing a tear-streaked face, and smiled.

Caitlin frowned in confusion. "Sam?"

"Fever broke about half an hour ago and his temperature's down a whole three degrees. He woke up, totally lucid, talked to me for a few minutes, then dozed off."

Thank God. She'd witnessed tears of relief, not grief. "Oh, Sam. That's wonderful."

He pulled her into a hug and whispered into her shoulder, "It was too close, Caitlin. I really thought I was going to lose him this time."

This time? How many other times had Dean Winchester been on the brink of death? She shoved the thought aside. Some things she was better off not knowing.

When Sam moved back, she studied him closely. He was pale and looked completely exhausted. "Sam, why don't you get some rest? You look like you're about to crash."

He glanced at Dean. "I'm not sure…"

"He's going to be fine. You've read the journal. The people who made it this far all recovered. You need some sleep."

"He might wake up."

Caitlin rolled her eyes. "Then I'll wake you. Dean's not the only stubborn ass in the Winchester family, is he?"

Sam cracked a smile for the first time in hours. "You should have met our dad."

"Sam, go and lie down. Now."

With a final look at his sleeping brother, Sam obediently lay down on the other bed. He was asleep in minutes.

Caitlin sat back down in the now familiar chair beside Dean's bed and studied the patient. She could see now that his condition had improved. He was still a little flushed, but he seemed to be sleeping comfortably, not restless or in pain. She reached out to touch his forehead. A little too warm, but nothing like the raging heat of before.

She yawned and rubbed her eyes, grimacing at the itchy, gritty feeling. She felt a little light-headed from lack of sleep. Although she'd taken a catnap once or twice during the long vigil, sleep had eluded her, and now that the urgency of the situation was gone, she felt bone weary.

She sat back and tried to occupy herself by reading a book someone had left on the table, but she couldn't concentrate. Her eyes kept straying to the man asleep in the bed beside her, irrationally needing to check to make sure he was still breathing.

A couple of hours passed until the moment she looked up from her book to find Dean awake and looking back at her. He looked sleepy, eyelids struggling to stay open, a slight frown furrowing his brow.

An irrational panic flooded through her. On the one hand, she felt an intimate connection to this man. After all, she'd spent practically every waking moment with him for the past twenty-four hours. She knew the exact number of freckles sprinkled across his face and could map without looking the network of scars across his body. But for a moment, the eyes gazing at her in confusion seemed to be the eyes of a stranger.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Hey… Caitlin."

She was ludicrously happy that he'd remembered her name.

"Where's Sam?"

Of course that would be his first question.

She nodded towards the other bed. "Sleeping."

Dean moved his head until he could see his brother. "He okay?"

"He's fine. Just needed some rest."

Dean shifted to get a better look at Sam, and the movement elicited a grunt of pain.

Caitlin winced in sympathy. "The journal says there'll be residual pain for a few days, so don't worry if it still hurts. You're going to be okay." She paused. "How bad's the pain?"

He was silent for a moment, and she wondered if he was deciding whether or not to tell her the truth. Then he sighed. "Everything aches, and my head's still pounding. But nothing like before."

He'd chosen the truth, and that one small act of trust gave her a warm feeling. "You should try and get some more sleep," she said. "I'm sure it'll be better after you've rested."

Dean grunted. "How long since…"

"… you were infected? Around twenty-four hours. How much do you remember?"

His brow creased again. "I remember the parnock, and Sam getting me back to the motel. I remember you… but it's all a blur after that."

"Well, you were out of it a lot of the time."

He looked at her for a moment, eyes roaming her face. She felt herself color under the scrutiny and cursed her propensity to blush so easily.

"You look tired," he said softly. "You've been here all the time?"

She nodded. "You asked me to stay for Sam, remember?"

"I did?"

She nodded. His eyes were still fixed on her face, so she turned away quickly before he could see that the blush had deepened. "Would you like some water?"

"Sure."

She helped him sit up a little and handed him a glass. He took a few sips before sinking back down.

It was clear the small effort had exhausted him. "You're bound to feel weak," she said quickly, anticipating his frustration. "After what you've been through, it'll take a while for you to get back on your feet. Just give it time. But Dean, you fought this thing so hard, and you won. That was just… amazing."

Clearly her words of praise made him uncomfortable, because he cleared his throat and looked away, turning to put the glass back on the table beside him. His brow knitted as he spotted the bowl of water with the abandoned washcloth hanging over the edge. She watched in amusement as his eyes dropped from the bowl to his bare chest. She could almost hear his brain cells working furiously as he put it together. Then he flushed a very attractive shade of pink.

Somehow, she hadn't expected Dean Winchester to be coy about his body, and it helped her past her own embarrassment.

"It's okay," she said casually, trying to hide a grin. "Wiping down your fevered body wasn't as much of a turn-on as you might think."

He recovered quickly, waggling his eyebrows and giving her a lecherous leer. "Well, no offense, but I usually get to know a girl before I let her tear my clothes off and molest me with a washcloth."

Caitlin raised an eyebrow. "Really? That's not what I've heard," she teased.

He gave her an indignant look. "Hey! Who've you been talking to?"

"My cousin might have told me a few things about you."

Dean groaned. "You don't want to go believing anything Jo says about me."

"Maybe not," she agreed. "Oh, and for the record, it was Sam who tore your clothes off."

Dean snorted a laugh, then grimaced. "Shi… Man, this sucks out loud."

"I know," she soothed. "But compared to a couple of hours ago…" She stopped, unsure whether to tell him any of the details.

"What?"

"We weren't sure you were going to make it. Sam was… worried about you." That had to be the understatement of the century.

"He's such a girl," Dean said quietly, but his eyes were distant, and she knew he was only too aware of how his brother would have been feeling.

"And I think he wants to kick your ass for pushing him out of the way of the parnock."

Dean rolled his eyes. "What did he expect me to do? It would have killed him."

"It almost killed you," she said pointedly.

Dean's silence confirmed that Sam had been right. It really wasn't an issue for Dean. He didn't care what happened to him, so long as his brother was unharmed. She wondered fleetingly what it must be like to be the object of such devotion. And then she found herself wondering if there was room in Dean Winchester's heart for more than one person.

Sam's voice interrupted that unhelpful line of thought. "Dean!"

Sam jumped up from his own bed and dropped down on the edge of Dean's. His eyes were swimming with emotion and his jaw was working as if he was fighting to get his feelings under control. "How do you feel?"

"Tired. And sore. But that's it."

Sam swallowed, "This one was too close, Dean."

Dean looked uncomfortable. "Sam, come on. I made it, like always."

"Yeah, you did. But one day you're not going to be so lucky. What happens then?" Sam's tone hardened. "You have to stop being so damned reckless."

Dean frowned. "The parnock would have killed you, Sam. What did you expect me to do?"

"I don't know!" Sam said forcefully, his voice rising. "Shoot it? Distract it? Not tackle it bodily, Dean! That was suicidal!"

Caitlin was beginning to feel as if she was an onlooker in an ongoing drama that was none of her concern, but as Dean shot his brother a frustrated look and started to push himself up, she intervened. Dean wasn't up to this kind of agitation right now.

She put a hand firmly on Dean's shoulder to stop him moving and looked sternly at Sam. "Not now, okay? Dean needs to rest."

It was ludicrously easy for her to hold Dean down and that clearly wasn't lost on Sam. He was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry Dean, I shouldn't have…" He ran a hand through his hair. "It's just… you scared the hell out of me, you know?"

Dean sank back down with a sigh. "I know, Sam. I know."

"Why don't I go out and get us something to eat?" Caitlin suggested, after a few moments of awkward silence.

"I'll go," Sam said. "I could do with some air."

"I'll have a burger loaded with everything, and a double order of French fries," Dean ordered in a sleepy voice.

Sam grinned. "Okay. So, that's a double order of chicken soup for Dean, and some sandwiches for us. I'll be right back."

He ignored his brother's indignant snort, snagged his jacket from the back of a chair and let himself out of the room.

Caitlin turned her attention back to Dean, who was having trouble keeping his eyes open. "Go to sleep," she said quietly. "You can eat later."

"Not worth staying up for some moldy old chicken soup anyway," he murmured, eyes already shut. A moment later a muscle in his cheek twitched, and his brow furrowed in a now familiar grimace of pain.

Caitlin reached out automatically, running a hand through his hair, thumb stroking softly across his forehead. It was a motion that had seemed to soothe him before, but she remembered too late that he'd been out of it then. She had no idea how he'd react now he was conscious. But he just gave a contented little sigh and turned his head into her touch.

His eyes opened half-mast. "Are you gonna leave?" he asked softly.

Caitlin hesitated. "Do you want me to?"

His eyes closed again, but she heard his answer clearly. "No."

For a second Caitlin had the irrational feeling that this moment was a turning point for her. She could go back to her safe, ordinary existence, or enter uncharted waters.

She didn't hesitate. "Then I'll stay."

**The End**


End file.
